The Killer's Wife (20 page)
Authors: Bill Floyd
T
hat voice.
hat voice.
It was amazing; even though I would have told you I’d blocked it completely from memory, as soon as he came on the line it was as though I’d been hearing him speak in the back of my mind every day since I last saw him, smug and corrupt and for one final time on display in court. Once we’d dispensed with the niceties of the prison authorities and the setting of recorders, he was right there in my ear, like we were together again in the very same room.
“Nina? Is this you?”
Matthews and Carolyn were hovering at my shoulder, listening in on the speaker. The detective had coached me on what to say; how to restrain what would undoubtedly be reactions of fear and hatred on my part, to allow Randy his perception of control over the situation, and to glean from him every piece of information we could get.
I kept Hayden paramount in my mind. I said, “Hello, Randy. It’s me.”
“My God, you sound terrible. I can tell when you’ve been holding back your tears, trying to be strong. I’ve seen some studies that say denial can give you cancer. The physical body simply chokes on all that emotion, and poisons itself. You should let go, at least once in your life.” His glee was forced, and I tried to savor his failure to deliver the scorn he so obviously wished to impart, but it was difficult over the rushing pulse in my ears.
“Randy, you know why I called. Someone took our son. I need to know what you know about it.”
“Time out,” he said, and now the sneer came quickly and unchecked into his tone. “I haven’t spoken to you in six years and in all likelihood I’ll never speak to you again, so we’re going to make this count. You are going to listen to
me.
”
me.
”
And I was stunned to hear the desperation in
his
voice. Had he lain awake nights, down the years, imagining this conversation, trying to find a way to inflict more pain? If so, I was ready to take it. It didn’t mean anything at all. “I’m listening, Randy.”
his
voice. Had he lain awake nights, down the years, imagining this conversation, trying to find a way to inflict more pain? If so, I was ready to take it. It didn’t mean anything at all. “I’m listening, Randy.”
“You and a whole room full of cops, no doubt.” He
seemed to regain some footing and his voice steadied. “I think the last time I saw you was in the courtroom, where you put on your act about how stunned you were to discover the truth about me. I have to ask, did they coach you on that?”
seemed to regain some footing and his voice steadied. “I think the last time I saw you was in the courtroom, where you put on your act about how stunned you were to discover the truth about me. I have to ask, did they coach you on that?”
“No. They weren’t allowed to.”
He scoffed. “If you say so. Please don’t bore me, Nina, because I am already ever so bored. I have nothing to tide me over here except the thoughts of you and what you must be going through, so do share.”
“I’m dying,” I stated, as plainly as I could.
“Ah, at last,” he said. “The ring of truth. You aren’t stupid, Nina. You never were. You knew some things about me long before I gave you the gift of the key.”
“It didn’t seem like a gift, Randy, it seemed like a curse. It seemed like you meant to hurt me from the start, and you did it with lies and your secret life. And when you couldn’t do it with those anymore, you did it with the truth. You’re a sadist, Randy, and you’re right that I knew it somewhere inside. But I never wanted to believe that I could be living with someone as monstrous as you.”
Unbidden, the memory came of him and me sitting on the couch in his apartment, the night I broke down and sobbed for half an hour over my ex-boyfriend, Brad. It was melodrama squared, a horrible display, especially since Randy and I had only been together a few months at the time. But he sat there and rubbed my shoulders and wiped the moisture away from my cheek with gentle fingertips. The giddiness, the thrill that ran all the way through me when he said,
“I can take care of you,” the admission that he knew I wouldn’t love him like I had this other absent shadow, but that he would love me regardless, without condition, and how much the tenderness of it swept me away. I thought I needed taking care of, then; I couldn’t conceive of surviving, after being all alone.
“I can take care of you,” the admission that he knew I wouldn’t love him like I had this other absent shadow, but that he would love me regardless, without condition, and how much the tenderness of it swept me away. I thought I needed taking care of, then; I couldn’t conceive of surviving, after being all alone.
“What we want to believe and what we do believe are seldom the same,” he said now. “I know you won’t believe this either, but I never hated you. I never felt sadistic toward you. I felt as much connection to you as anyone I ever knew. I even thought of sharing it with you before then, before the Snyder girl.” His voice climbed, edging toward rhapsody. “You can’t imagine it, the intensity of it when you have another human being at your mercy and—”
“I don’t imagine it. Where’s Carson Beckman?”
“She rises!” Randy gave a laugh that turned into a cough. After a moment he collected himself and apologized. “Sorry, there’s not much to do in here except smoke, and I do so with gusto. Now, since this conversation is being taped, I don’t want to hold anything back, okay? I want you to be able to go back over it and sift for details and hidden messages. But I’ll tell you now, and for free, that there won’t be any. My appeals are nearly exhausted, and after this current affair I’m sure they’ll set an expeditious date, even in this craven state. So I don’t want there to be any more lies between us, Nina, nor anything that won’t be independently verified for you in what will most likely be a painfully short period of time. I know you’re suffering now,
but there may soon come an hour where you wish for the luxury of uncertainty. Sometimes knowing the ending is worse. I’ll tell you the truth now, Nina. Ask away.”
but there may soon come an hour where you wish for the luxury of uncertainty. Sometimes knowing the ending is worse. I’ll tell you the truth now, Nina. Ask away.”
“Where is Carson Beckman?” I repeated.
“I couldn’t begin to guess. I haven’t communicated with him, by phone or mail, for a few weeks now. Not since we first heard about you on the news. Initially, he was supposed to be going after Pritchett, but Carson is a boy of limited means and stilted experience, and he never made much progress. I believe that as far as he ever got was sending a suggestive article to the old fool, a way of bragging about his own nascent exploits and unnerving Pritchett at the same time. I thought it was a nice touch but certainly not the payback I’d have preferred. But then Pritchett found you, and now I’ve got the crown. I realize that you and your police friends may imagine that I have Carson under some diabolical thrall, mind control or some such horseshit, but I assure you that the young man is an independent operator. I didn’t make him into what he is, I merely recognized it.”
“What is he?”
“He’s the same as I, of course. A natural killer, a sociopath, whatever brand you wish to tag him with. You can’t imagine the impact when I discovered him. I’d always ascribed to the notion of a godless universe, entropy as the prime mover, only the self to answer to. But after Carson, things started to change, because I realized that for me to have found him, out of all the targets in the world … Well, that’s a bit much to write off as coincidence, isn’t it?
“I first saw his mother and sister walking down Ashland
Avenue and they were both highlighted. That had never happened before, two highlights in one sighting, but at the time I wrote it off to chance, mere luck or a possible evolution in my taste. I followed them, I staked out their house per my usual MO. While I was watching, on my second day of surveillance, shit, I’ll never forget … It was a clear day and the air crisp and cold. No one else was home when young Carson got off the school bus out in front of the house and then ten minutes later he’s sneaking out the back door, carrying something cradled in his arms, like it’s the biggest secret in the world. It was a burlap sack, like potatoes come in. He left it lying there in the yard and I watched him go back inside and return with a shovel, then he dug a deep hole near the rear of the property, close enough I’d have worried about his seeing me if he hadn’t so obviously been consumed with his task. This wasn’t the burial of some favored pet—that much was apparent from the way he kept looking around behind him at his house, checking to make sure no one came home while he was busy. He was mostly hidden from the neighboring yards by the trees, which was one of the advantages I was figuring on for my own entry. Once the hole was ready, he upended the bag so that the cat’s corpse fell out, and it was in several different pieces. I saw his face when he did it. He stared a long time, reminiscing, and I could tell he was aroused by whatever images came to mind. He balled up the bag and covered his little hole and went inside without looking back.
Avenue and they were both highlighted. That had never happened before, two highlights in one sighting, but at the time I wrote it off to chance, mere luck or a possible evolution in my taste. I followed them, I staked out their house per my usual MO. While I was watching, on my second day of surveillance, shit, I’ll never forget … It was a clear day and the air crisp and cold. No one else was home when young Carson got off the school bus out in front of the house and then ten minutes later he’s sneaking out the back door, carrying something cradled in his arms, like it’s the biggest secret in the world. It was a burlap sack, like potatoes come in. He left it lying there in the yard and I watched him go back inside and return with a shovel, then he dug a deep hole near the rear of the property, close enough I’d have worried about his seeing me if he hadn’t so obviously been consumed with his task. This wasn’t the burial of some favored pet—that much was apparent from the way he kept looking around behind him at his house, checking to make sure no one came home while he was busy. He was mostly hidden from the neighboring yards by the trees, which was one of the advantages I was figuring on for my own entry. Once the hole was ready, he upended the bag so that the cat’s corpse fell out, and it was in several different pieces. I saw his face when he did it. He stared a long time, reminiscing, and I could tell he was aroused by whatever images came to mind. He balled up the bag and covered his little hole and went inside without looking back.
“I had almost forgotten to breathe. I saw him. I
knew
him.”
knew
him.”
“And that’s why you let him live?”
“Well, of course. I can’t claim total foresight—I never imagined he would get in touch with me. I simply wanted to leave him untethered and loose in the world, and to savor the idea that I’d probably prodded him along, given what happened to his dear, clueless family. What I did to them would drive even a normal person to extremes later in life, most likely. With him, it was practically assured.” He stated it simply, like an academic rumination. “When he did contact me, at first I only thought of it as an exercise, a mentor /pupil type of relationship. Maybe I could pass along some information that would keep him from making some of the same mistakes I’d made. It got me off, I won’t claim that it didn’t, but I really didn’t consider using him as an extension until Pritchett’s ham-fisted attempt on my life. That came only a few months after the initial contact with Carson. Again, I took it as a sign from some greater power, that I’d been offered this tool, blunt and unformed though it was. I believed the boy might have uses, but he is, alas, in many ways too raw for remote control. If he ever can manage to exert some channeling of his impulses, he’ll eclipse my numbers. But as of now, there’s no telling what he’ll do. Quite honestly, I meant for him to kill the both of you, straightaway. I’m not sure what all this kidnapping and such is about. Perhaps the boy has been poisoned by Hollywood scenarios, thinks he can bargain with someone.”
I couldn’t indulge Matthews’s restraints anymore. I said, “My God, Randy. Hayden is your son, too.”
“He’ll never forget that, now,” Randy shot back. “And neither will you.”
“Good-bye, Randy.”
“Nina? If he does contact you, I suggest you take him seriously. Whatever becomes of Hayden, I don’t think Carson will be able to let this go without addressing you personally. I believe that, across the years of our communication, I did manage to transfer a bit of that obsession to him.”
“When do you stop hurting me? When do you stop hurting everyone?”
“My damage lasts generations. You can ask any of my victims’ surviving families. And in your case, my damage ends generations.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at him, but it was the kind of sound I knew I’d never want to admit to having made. “You’re pathetic, Randy. I mean it. I hope you feel it when you go, when they push the needle in. I hope it hurts.” I slammed the phone down.
Carolyn put her arms around me. Matthews wouldn’t meet my eyes.
C
arolyn drove to the store late that night to buy some groceries. I hadn’t left the house now for two days straight, and what little remained in the fridge was paltry and unappealing: half a two-liter of flat Coke, some cheese slices, and a couple of frozen dinners; salad dressing and grapes gone mushy. I lay on the couch while she was gone, thinking about Hayden and Carson and all the rest of it. Matthews had left hours ago, with assurances that he’d call if he heard any news. On TV, a sitcom babbled and droned, and I found the canned laughter, normally an irritant even
on my favorite shows, soothing, like waves on the beach of some alien sea.
arolyn drove to the store late that night to buy some groceries. I hadn’t left the house now for two days straight, and what little remained in the fridge was paltry and unappealing: half a two-liter of flat Coke, some cheese slices, and a couple of frozen dinners; salad dressing and grapes gone mushy. I lay on the couch while she was gone, thinking about Hayden and Carson and all the rest of it. Matthews had left hours ago, with assurances that he’d call if he heard any news. On TV, a sitcom babbled and droned, and I found the canned laughter, normally an irritant even
on my favorite shows, soothing, like waves on the beach of some alien sea.
I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until the front door opened. Carolyn stood there holding my door key while I blinked and sat up. Her color was high and she wasn’t carrying any grocery bags.
“What now?” I said.
She looked behind her, a brief glance out the open door toward the police cruiser parked by the sidewalk. She turned back to me and closed the door. “I’m trusting you to do the right thing here,” she said. “Don’t make me regret it. This was on my windshield when I came out of the store.” And she pulled an envelope from her coat pocket.
Her hand was already shaking and I noted the clear tremor in my own as I took it from her. It was a plain, white envelope, letter-sized, just like the one Pritchett had passed along to me in a similar fashion. The same sort Carson Beckman had sent to him. Inside, on a single sheet of paper, were block letters written in Magic Marker: FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS AND BE HERE TOMORROW AT NINE O’CLOCK. NINA ONLY. NO COPS, NO FRIENDS. IF YOU AREN’T ALONE, THE OTHER ONE COMES OUT. After the text was a list of street directions, rights and lefts that I recognized would lead me about a half hour west of Cary, into Chatham County. It was one of the few rural areas remaining in the Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill area, mostly farmland punctuated by small communities and encroaching developments. The rare sort of place where the residents still fight Wal-Mart.
My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t hold on to
the page. I placed it gently on the coffee table beside Carolyn’s laptop. I turned to Carolyn. “What ‘other one comes out’? What does that mean?”
the page. I placed it gently on the coffee table beside Carolyn’s laptop. I turned to Carolyn. “What ‘other one comes out’? What does that mean?”
She said, “I wanted you to read it first. I think that was the intention. And I think we should sit down.” Then she handed me the other folded piece of paper that had accompanied the letter.
On it was a scanned photograph. The picture showed my son, duct tape around his wrists and ankles, posed on a plaid couch whose pattern might have been fashionable in the 1970s. A stark, empty wall behind him, a cellar or basement; gray concrete blocks, no visible windows. Hayden wore another strip of tape across his mouth, just as he had in the surveillance photos from the school camera. Except now there was a black, crudely fashioned patch of gauze held over his left eye by another swatch of gray tape.
“Oh, God.” One hand clamped over my mouth—again, like all those years ago standing in Randy’s shed, that involuntary sealing off.
My baby’s eyes.
My baby’s eyes.
Carolyn sat beside me, gently prying the photo away. “We need to walk out that door right now and tell the police. They’ll call Matthews. He can have a SWAT team out there in an hour and we can bring Hayden home tonight.”
“No.” My response was immediate and adamant. In my mind, I could already see them unloading a Hayden-sized body bag out the front door of some nondescript hovel. Scenes of hostage standoffs on the evening news replayed in my mind. The outcomes were rarely good. And Carson was totally fucking insane, at least as insane as Randy and
maybe a good bit more. I took back the photo and made Carolyn look at it. “You see what he already did to one eye. If this bastard could do that, to a child, then do you think he’ll have any trouble killing him? Look.”
maybe a good bit more. I took back the photo and made Carolyn look at it. “You see what he already did to one eye. If this bastard could do that, to a child, then do you think he’ll have any trouble killing him? Look.”
Carolyn tried reasoning with me. “If you go alone, he’ll just kill both of you—”
I realized I was barely breathing. It was like there had been a rushing, consuming roar in my ears and my head for years, but now things had gone quiet. Still, and calm and clear. “Maybe not,” I said. “Maybe he wants me more than Hayden. I mean, that’s what all this is about, right? You heard Randy on the phone. He’s using Carson as his last chance to finish me off, his last opportunity to work his will on me. If Carson wanted Hayden dead, then he wouldn’t have sent this message, he’d have just killed him and buried him and then come back for me another time.”
“He might have done that already,” Carolyn said, as softly as she could. “We don’t know when that picture was taken, or what’s happened since.”
“Don’t make me take a chance on my son’s life, Carolyn. You can’t.”
She knew well enough that I was serious, but she tried one last time. “At least let me call Duane. Carson has to have been in this vicinity within the past half hour. He had to have been watching the house, and followed me to the store to leave the note. It’s possible he’s still watching us, right now.”
I shook my head and held up the directions. “Then he’s been watching us for longer than the past few hours. He
knows the police are here. If the police haven’t noticed him in all that time, what makes you think they’ll be able to track him now?”
knows the police are here. If the police haven’t noticed him in all that time, what makes you think they’ll be able to track him now?”
“There must be security cameras in the parking lot at the grocery store. Maybe we can find out what kind of vehicle he’s driving, and—”
I put both hands on her shoulders. “Carolyn, stop. If I have to, I’ll find a way to duck you and the police, both. Carson isn’t demanding any ransom, he isn’t asking for anything. He doesn’t intend to let us live. I know that. But you remember what Randy said? He said I should take Carson seriously, and I think this is what he meant. This is my chance to do something, and I need your help, but I can’t risk anyone else fucking it up. You’ve already given me more than I ever could’ve asked you for, but this is the single most important thing you could ever do for me in either of our lives, the thing that will erase your helping Pritchett find me and everything that’s come about because of that. Help me save my son. Don’t tell anyone. Not Duane or the cops.”
She hung her head and I saw tears falling, but she didn’t make a sound. Finally she went to her overnight bag and pulled out a handgun that looked as though it must weigh fifty pounds. “If you’re determined, you’re taking one of these. And I’m going with you, at least until you’re at the house. I can wait by the end of the driveway if you want, but I’m going. That’s not negotiable.”
“I want you to go,” I assured her. “But right now we need to go unload the groceries from your car before the cops realize something’s wrong.”
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